


This I Promise You

by unrealitycheck



Series: Ding Dong, the Clown is Dead (But Eddie and Stan are Just Fine) [5]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Drama, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie still can’t catch a break, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Multi, Stanley Uris Lives, Weddings, first of all Mike/Kay is now a ship so jot that down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25003381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrealitycheck/pseuds/unrealitycheck
Summary: Ben and Beverly get married, Richie makes his Netflix debut, and Myra (as usual) stirs up some new drama.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon/Kay McCall
Series: Ding Dong, the Clown is Dead (But Eddie and Stan are Just Fine) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600483
Comments: 16
Kudos: 77





	1. The Myra Situation

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who’s back! Back again!
> 
> I thought I was done with this series, but inspiration hit me out of nowhere. So here’s another installment. And with chapters this time!

**Ben and Beverly's Wedding Week  
** **Chicago, IL**

"I'm sorry, Ben. I'm _sorry_! I just _still_ don't see the difference between *NSYNC, the Backstreet Boys, 99°–"

"Ninety- _eight_ ," Ben corrected patiently.

"Okay, fine," said Eddie. "98° and all the rest! I appreciate you asking for my input, but there's no way I can tell if there's too much Backstreet Boys on the wedding playlist! You think because I'm _gay_ , I'm supposed to know this shit?"

Okay, that was probably a dick thing to say. Ben flinched a little, like Eddie had blown cold air in his face.

"No, Eddie," said Ben, with more patience than Eddie deserved. (Damn those nice teddy bear eyes of his!) "It is _not_ because you're gay. I just thought, well—since you and Beverly have similar backgrounds, you would be the best person to consult. You understand her."

Right. Nothing like being raised by a horrible parent and then marrying an exact copy of them. It still blew Eddie's mind that he and Beverly had both fallen into that trap.

"Okay, fair enough," said Eddie. He halted his stressed-out pacing—still an unbreakable habit—and sank down onto the end of Ben's bed. "Run me through those boy bands again. Which songs are the Backstreet Boys?"

Ben, who could never resist discussing his taste in music, was perfectly happy to sort through his playlist and meticulously explain which song belonged to which boy band. Eddie tried his hardest to grasp this information. He _really_ did. But no matter how many times Ben patiently put him through this, it all seemed to blur together. Was Justin Timberlake really that special? He looked and sounded just like all those other clones!

"I'm sorry, Ben," Eddie said again, after Ben tried to show him that Nick Carter and Nick Lachey were not the same, thank you very much. "But does it really matter if your playlist is 65% Backstreet Boys? Does it really matter _that_ much?"

"It might to Beverly. She says she's always been an *NSYNC girl."

"Then add some more *NSYNC songs!"

Ben was really the most patient person on the face of the earth. He simply looked at Eddie, not even a trace of annoyance in those earnest Labrador retriever eyes.

"I know your wedding to Myra was less than ideal, but you _have_ been through this before. Surely you understand that I can't just add a bunch of songs because a certain artist sings them. There has to be certain meaning behind each song. It has to speak to me."

"So I'm assuming the Backstreet Boys... spoke to you?" _In their identical voices,_ Eddie added to himself.

"Yes!" said Ben. "Now you're getting it!"

Eddie wouldn't say he was getting it, exactly, but he couldn't bear to crush Ben's spirits. Sure, he'd been through all the wedding bullshit, but it was all a nightmarish haze that lurked in the deepest, darkest corner of his memory. Was there even a playlist for his wedding? Eddie honestly had no idea, and he wasn't in the mood for unburying that particular detail.

"You know, I think Beverly will be fine with whatever you pick out," said Eddie, shoving all thoughts of his past nightmare/wedding back into the dark crypt where they belonged. "Because it involves _you_ , and that's all she's really going to care about. I mean, if Richie and I ever had a real wedding and I was crazy enough to let Richie pick the playlist, he'd probably fill it with Weird Al and the Beastie Boys and ridiculous bullshit from Saturday Night Live, but you know what? It wouldn't even matter. I'd be too focused on the fact that finally, this time around, I'm getting married to the _right_ person, and I think Bev will feel that way too."

Judging from the soft expression in Ben's warm-chocolate-chip-cookie eyes, Eddie supposed he had said something incredibly profound.

"Wow, Eddie. That was beautiful. And I think you're right about Beverly, just like I knew you'd be. Also, now that you've mentioned it, do you think there _is_ a possibility that you and Richie will ever have a real wedding?"

"I, uh—well—Richie and I haven't talked about it."

Not yet, at least. Eddie was starting to think that weddings were fucking contagious, because ever since he arrived in Chicago he'd been thinking that maybe—just _maybe—_ it wouldn't be so terrible to have one of his own. Again. But without Myra, so it _definitely_ wouldn't be terrible.

But Eddie didn't dare voice these thoughts in front of Ben. The moment he admitted he had marriage on his mind, Ben would literally bury him in wedding magazines and spend all afternoon Googling potential venues. Never mind the fact that Ben's wedding to Beverly was _literally_ the day after tomorrow. His wedding fever was an unstoppable force.

"Well, if you ever decide you're ready for an actual wedding, you know who to call," said Ben.

He really should update his business cards. _Ben Hanscom: Architect/Wedding Planner._

Eddie was spared from further conversation with Ben when his phone began buzzing violently. Somehow the vibration seemed louder and more aggressive than usual.

He knew why as soon as he saw the name on his screen.

_Oh, shit._

"Ben, would you excuse me a minute? I, uh, have to take this."

Eddie fled from Ben and Beverly's bedroom and hovered in the hallway for one long, panicky moment, wondering which way to turn next. Ben had rented a gorgeous six-bedroom house on Chicago's equally gorgeous Lake Shore Drive for the entire Losers Club, along with Patty, Audra, and Ben's mother—who Ben couldn't bear to send to a hotel. As if that wasn't proof enough that Ben was the nicest guy in the world, he was also nice enough to schedule his wedding around Richie's Netflix debut, which was hitting the screen tomorrow.

The thought of Richie jump-started Eddie's memory as he frantically gazed at a hallway filled with identical doors. _There_ was the right one! He hurried into the room he was sharing with Richie, slamming the door behind him. His hand sweated around his phone as it continued to angrily vibrate.

Oh, God. What could _she_ possibly want?

For Myra to call _now_ , when his friends were about to get married, could only mean disaster. Why was she still determined to invade every personal aspect of his life?

Might as well get this shit over with. She would just call again if he ignored her.

Eddie leaned his back against the door, tried to steady his breathing, and answered the phone in a voice that he dearly _hoped_ was authoritative.

"Myra, you'd better have a damn good reason for calling me right now."

*

" _Richie_."

Eddie's jaw was so tense, he was surprised he could get the word out. His heart rate had skyrocketed, brought on by the stress of Myra's voice in his ear. Her voice was strictly back in New York now, where it fucking belonged, but Eddie could still hear the echo of her shouting at him. Myra never really shouted _that_ much when they were together. Wailed, yes. She did plenty of that. Blubbered, cried, screamed in terror that _something_ would happen to him if he didn't wear extra gloves on a particularly icy day.

But now— _now_ , when the Losers were supposed to be celebrating Ben and Beverly's happiness—Eddie's ears were ringing from the angry shouts of his crazy ex-wife.

Who suddenly didn't seem so crazy, compared with—

" _Richie!_ "

Eddie raised his voice over the riveting story Patty Uris was currently telling. Something embarrassing involving Stan's college days. She and Richie were drinking breakfast cocktails on the back patio, both of them seated in lawn chairs while Bill and Audra swam in the nearby pool.

Richie set down his drink and glanced at Eddie. He immediately got that _look_ he wore whenever he knew he'd have to shield himself with a joke.

"Eddie, hi. Come have a seat. Patty was telling me about the time Stan—"

"Not now," said Eddie. " _We_ need to talk."

"Shit, did I leave the toilet seat up again? One of these days, I swear I'll get the hang of it!"

But Eddie didn't smile at Richie's incredibly feeble attempt at a joke. He stood there on the patio, hands twitching nervously at his sides, staring Richie down while Patty pretended to be oblivious to the tension between them. She made a big show of calling out to Audra, asking her if she'd seen the latest episode of This-and-That, until Richie took one last swig from his glass and followed Eddie into the house.

"Okay, seriously, what did I do?" Richie asked. "Use your toothbrush? Drink out of your water bottle? Tell a mom joke in my sleep?"

"I don't even know what to say to you right now." Eddie kept his voice down as they passed Mrs. Hanscom's room. He did _not_ want her coming out and acting all motherly at a time like this. "All I know is that I'm completely bewildered, and so is Myra, and—"

"Wait, wait. Back the fuck up. What the fuck does Myra have to do with this?"

Eddie didn't answer at first. He let Richie continue babbling at him until they were safely inside the walls of their rented bedroom. Then he shut the door and immediately began pacing the carpet.

"Myra called me, Richie. Just now! And she's very upset. She claims that someone—and she has her suspicions—has been setting her up on various dating apps without her permission! She's convinced this is _somebody's_ idea of a sick joke! You wouldn't happen to know anything about this, would you?"

Richie's face betrayed him. He could shrug things off with a joke or hide behind sarcasm, but his poker face was shit.

"Okay, fine," said Richie. "Maybe it's a little sick, but it wasn't _completely_ a joke! I had good intentions in mind! Why is she so upset?"

"I don't know, Richie. Maybe because a strange man contacted her and started hitting on her!"

"Wow, only one? I thought she might have done a _little_ better than that."

"Oh, my God." Eddie stopped pacing and wished he had something he could strangle right now. "Can you hear yourself? You advertised Myra as a female seeking a chronically ill and/or critically injured male!"

"Because she's into that shit!"

"Are you fucking kidding me? Now she's got some random guy with prostate disease asking her on a date! You can't just _do_ something like this to Myra. She's emotionally sensitive. This whole thing is very distressing for her, and now it's distressing for me because I had to listen to her yell about it!"

Eddie had done his share of yelling too. Which normally excited Richie, if they were having one of their half-playful, half-crazy bickering matches, but this time Richie just stared at him like Eddie's head on fire.

"I can explain," said Richie. He said it fast, practically tripping over his words in his rush to get them out. "I—I know it was fucking stupid, okay? But just let me explain!"

"I can't think of any _good_ reason why you would do something so fucked-up, but fine, Richie. Fine! Give me your best bullshit!"

Ouch. Okay, maybe that was a little harsh. Richie sank down onto the bed, like Eddie's words had actually knocked him over, and reverted to an old habit of fidgeting with his glasses.

"I just wanted to get her off your back, once and for all," said Richie. "And since she seems to have this weird obsession with fussing over your health, I figured, hey, the best thing she needs is some other guy she can play nurse with or whatever. It would do us all a favor. You'd be free from her, I'd never have to hear her name again, and Myra would have a new man in her life, which is exactly what she fucking needs."

"So you raided all her social media profiles, gathered her information, and invited her into potential relationships that she most certainly did not ask for?"

"Fuck. All right. It was probably the creepiest shit I've ever done. I just—I know it's childish, but sometimes I hate her, Eddie. I just really fucking hate her. When we met back up in Derry and I saw you for the first time in over twenty fucking years with that ring on your finger, it made me so sick I wanted to claw my own eyes out. Even now, the thought of it still makes me want to puke. But if it makes you feel better, I'll remove her from the dating apps and tell that prostate guy there's been a mistake, okay?"

"You'll do more than that," said Eddie. "You're going to call Myra and apologize to her."

"Wait, what? No way! Can't I just text her?"

"No, you cannot just text her! You owe Myra a _real_ apology! What's the big deal, Richie? You had no problem stalking her on the internet!"

"And I told you I would fix it! I'll do it right now. But there is no way in hell I'm calling that woman. I just can't!"

"Then I'm spending the night in Mike's room. There's two beds in there. I know he'll welcome the company!"

It wasn't the first time Eddie had gotten angry with Richie. Or even the first time he made Richie sleep by himself. But something about this moment, with Richie gaping at him in shock, like he had just witnessed the unexpected return of Pennywise, made Eddie feel like an asshole.

But he was also a _stubborn_ asshole.

"When you're ready to make that phone call, let me know," said Eddie, then stormed out of the room before Richie could beg his forgiveness.

*

He couldn't believe this.

He could _not_ fucking believe this.

Right when Eddie was thinking that _maybe_ marriage wasn't a bad idea, Richie had to go and ruin it.

Or Myra had to go and ruin it, really, because that was what she did whenever Eddie's life began to run almost-smoothly. But she wouldn't have done it if Richie hadn't provoked her!

"Honey, you don't look well," said Ben's mother, strolling into the kitchen. Eddie had sought refuge with the blender and the fruit bowl, hoping that a smoothie would calm his nerves.

"I'm fine," said Eddie, hands as stiff as cardboard while he tried to peel a banana.

Mrs. Hanscom eyed him suspiciously, like she expected him to collapse any moment. "I should tell that nice Mr. Hanlon to fire up the grill early. You look like a couple of burgers would do you good."

That must be her personal motto. Mrs. Hanscom thought a burger did _everyone_ good. She didn't remember, thanks to the magical memory wipe that kept the Losers apart all those years, but she used to go crazy whenever Eddie came to Ben's house. She _always_ wanted to feed him and drown him in tall glasses of milk. He could see the same look in her eyes as he measured out a cup of frozen strawberries. Like she wanted to drag him down to the nearest steakhouse and get him some _real_ food.

Suddenly Mrs. Hanscom put a hand to her forehead, as if something had stung her there.

"I can't believe I didn't remember it before," she said slowly. "You were that _little_ boy who hung around Benny. He said you two were friends in Derry, but for some reason I just _couldn't_ recall your face."

Oh, great. Now she'd drag him to the steakhouse for sure.

"Well, as you can see, I'm not that little anymore," said Eddie. He dumped the strawberries in the blender and poured out some organic coconut milk. "Would you like a smoothie, Mrs. Hanscom? I drink lots and _lots_ of smoothies. They're very nourishing."

"Coconut milk?" Mrs. Hanscom's eyes were soft and warm, like Ben's, but they rested skeptically on the milk carton. "I don't know about all these fancy new substitutions they have nowadays. Good old-fashioned cow's milk has never hurt anybody."

"Unless you have a dairy allergy," Eddie pointed out.

She didn't seem convinced, so Eddie launched into an in-depth lecture on coconut milk versus cow's milk until she looked completely dazed and wandered off.

Satisfied, Eddie started the blender.

"Aha," said Stan a few minutes later, coming around the corner in a sweater vest. "When you hear the blender screaming in the distance, you know where to find Eddie Kaspbrak."

Eddie tasted his smoothie. "I'm a trademark of good health, Stan. Everyone should follow my example."

Stan went over to the kitchen counter, where the blender sat half-empty, and fixed Eddie with a solid, unblinking stare.

"Patty says you and Richie had to have a _talk_ earlier."

"Oh, my God. Seriously? Are me and Richie the weird couple? Are we really the only ones don't tell each other _everything_?"

"We're all just looking out for Ben and Beverly here. It _is_ their wedding in two days. Plus Richie's Netflix special debuts tomorrow. It'd really put a damper on things if you two are fighting."

"Who says we're fighting?"

"Just now, I overheard Richie ask Ben if there are any vintage car auctions happening nearby."

"Oh, shit," said Eddie, slamming down his smoothie glass. "Somebody stop him. He is _not_ buying me a car over this!"

Stan's face was infuriatingly smug. "So Richie screwed up. What did he do?"

Eddie gulped down the rest of his smoothie and told him. Stan, to his surprise, did not laugh at the story. Instead he seemed thoughtful, like an old man in a retirement home contemplating his next chess move. Must be the sweater vest.

"Try not to hate me for this, but I think I might have fueled this particular screw-up," said Stan.

" _You_ encouraged Richie to harass my ex-wife?"

"Not intentionally. We were chatting over the phone the other night about the wedding—how Beverly's worried her ex-husband might try to crash it. Which brought us onto the subject of _your_ ex. I made some suggestions that were meant to be taken as a joke, but it's possible that Richie missed the irony."

"Honestly, Stan, if you told me you're having a heart attack right now, I wouldn't know whether you're joking."

"Why would I joke about having a heart attack?"

"I don't know. Bad example! Either way, no matter whose fault it is, Myra is extremely pissed off and Richie needs to apologize to her. In front of me, so I can hear it!"

"And if he doesn't do it within the next twenty-four hours, you're going to murder the entire wedding party," said Stan, sounding bored as he checked the time on his phone.

"See? See what I mean? You _would_ joke about a heart attack!"

"Because medical problems are so hilarious. Ha ha ha. I'll try to talk to Richie about the Myra situation. At the very least, I'll try to keep him from buying you a car."

"Thanks, Stan," said Eddie, but somehow he felt like an asshole all over again as Stan made his exit, leaving Eddie alone with his smoothie.

Which was fucking ridiculous. He wasn't the bad guy here! He had every right to be angry with Richie!

 _Right before Ben and Beverly's wedding_ , the voice of reason reminded him. _Is this what you want? To completely ruin their wedding?_

But he wasn't going to _ruin_ it. Richie would eventually do the right thing and apologize to Myra, and then everything would go back to normal and Ben and Beverly would live happily ever fucking after, _the end_.

*

Right before lunchtime, Beverly drove up to the house with her friend Kay McCall, who lived nearby. Kay was a feminist, had been divorced for twelve years, and dressed even louder than Richie.

She seemed thrilled when she found out that Mike would be grilling burgers for everyone.

"I like a man who's not afraid to cook," said Kay, eyeing up Mike in his apron as he fired up the grill. "Anyone who thinks it's a woman's job can kiss my ass."

Mike cracked a smile at her. "I definitely don't think it's a woman's job."

Everyone had gathered in the backyard, including Richie, who had been stopped just in time from running off to a car auction. He still hadn't called Myra, but he apologized to Eddie about fifty times and promised that all would be well after lunch.

Not in those exact words. The way Richie put it, his eventual apology would have Myra "so satisfied, she'll be begging for more."

But Eddie desperately _hoped_ all would be well.

Beverly, who had been out with Kay all morning, could sense that something had happened between Eddie and Richie. She kept glancing at both of them, wordlessly asking Eddie if anything was wrong. Her attention was then stolen by Kay, who wanted to know where Beverly had been hiding Mike all these years.

 _In the deep black hole where our memories went_ , Eddie thought to himself.

He chose a seat at the picnic table where Richie, Stan, and Patty had gathered.

"I'm still pissed at you," he warned Richie. "And I still have every intention of sleeping in Mike's room tonight."

"Unless Kay beats you to it," said Stan.

"I don't know," said Richie, watching Kay loiter by the grill. "She's wearing leopard print. Mike could take offense. He might think she slaughters wild animals in her spare time."

"Beverly says she wrote three books," said Patty. "Feminist nonfiction. Maybe Mike has shelved a couple of them."

Eddie cracked open the bottle of Perrier he'd brought outside. "And you think that's sufficient basis for a relationship?"

"Who says anything about a relationship?" said Richie. "This is a great opportunity for Mike to shelve his _dick_. If anyone deserves to get laid, it's Mike."

"I can sure think of someone who _doesn't_ deserve to get laid tonight," Eddie muttered.

"Now, now, children," scolded Stan in his best imitation of a tired old man. "No fighting at the table."

"Sorry, grandpa," said Richie, but moments later he glanced at Eddie, looking exactly like their dog when she begged for extra food. It punched Eddie right in the chest.

He carefully sipped his Perrier, glad that his dark sunglasses (armed with extra-powerful UV protection, as always) effectively hid his expression.

Eddie _was_ still pissed. And he had good reason to be! He was only sitting with Richie to keep up appearances for the sake of Ben and Beverly. He would keep up appearances throughout the whole damn wedding if he had to. Richie had committed a serious offense when he decided to pick on Myra. Eddie wasn't letting him off the hook easily, and there was no _way_ he was going to consider marriage with someone who behaved so immaturely. Their domestic partnership was stressful enough.

When the burgers were ready, Mrs. Hanscom decided to make herself useful and served the food. She was one of those moms who—on top of constantly wanting to feed you—always insisted on being useful. She was definitely the perfect image of a strong single mom. (Unlike Eddie's mother, who gained her strength through making Eddie feel weak, but the less Eddie thought about _her,_ the better.)

"Extra lettuce and no bun, please," Eddie requested as Mrs. Hanscom served his plant-based veggie patty. Seeing the puzzled look on her face, he clarified, "Instead of using a bun, you wrap the patty in lettuce. It's a bread substitute. The perfect way to cut down on carbs."

"Ahh, you're one of those vegan-vegetarian-no-carb-whatever-they-call-themselves-nowadays types," said Mrs. Hanscom, dropping extra lettuce onto Eddie's plate. "I should have guessed. Benny went through a phase like that when he was a boy. He always wanted salads for dinner. All throughout high school, nothing but salads!"

"And suddenly I wasn't chubby anymore," Ben muttered under his breath as soon as his mom stepped aside.

Halfway through lunch, Kay finally warmed up to Richie. It had taken a while. Unsurprisingly, she wasn't impressed with his career and found his previous image highly offensive.

"But it's brave of you to become a more authentic version of yourself," she admitted. "Even if it was long overdue. I guess I'll give your Netflix special a shot when it's out tomorrow. But if I don't like it, I'm sending in a scathing review to every magazine I know."

"Thanks," said Richie. "Maybe I'll try one of those feminist books you wrote. It might help me authenticate myself a little further. Or I can at least use it for toilet paper if I get too bored."

Kay, to Eddie's relief, started laughing. "You should pick the third one in the series. According to most critics, it _should_ be toilet paper."

The rest of the meal passed smoothly from there, until all the burgers were eaten and Mrs. Hanscom started collecting the empty plates.

Richie stood up, waited for a particularly noisy wave of chatter to die down, and said, "Can I get everyone's attention, please? I have an important announcement to make."

Oh, shit. Maybe he _did_ buy a car.

"Time for wedding speeches already?" asked Bill.

"No, this is about me and Eddie. I'm sorry to be a self-centered prick during Ben and Beverly Week, but I've got something I really need to say."

" _Richie_ ," warned Eddie, staring up at him in dread. "You don't have to do this. Not _here_."

"Eddie, you know I fucked up," said Richie, talking louder, while Stan gave Eddie a look that clearly said, _Let him get on with it. I want to see the shit show_. "I did something that was unbelievably stupid, but I'm going to make it right. With all of you as witnesses! Right now, in front of you all, I'm going to make a phone call to New York and get Eddie's ex-wife on the line and say, _Hi Myra. How's it going? Look, I'm really sorry I set you up on all those dating apps without your permission_ —"

"You what?" demanded Beverly.

"Long fucking story, Bev," said Richie. "Want the short version? I was trying to encourage her to forget about Eddie by plunging her into the dating scene. Myra didn't take it well. Eddie didn't either. So right now, with the entire Losers Club as witness, I have to make amends with the last person on earth I would ever want to speak to, because that's the key to earning Eddie's forgiveness for being such an inconsiderate asshole. Isn't that right, Eddie?"

All eyes were suddenly on Eddie. The sunlight glinted off of Kay's pineapple earrings as she smirked at him.

"Trashmouth knows how to put on a show," she said. "I'll give him that."

"All right, Richie," said Eddie, forcing himself to keep his head up, despite the embarrassment that threatened to weigh him down. "Go ahead and make the call. We'll all feel better once you do."

Richie pulled out his cell phone. He stared into its blank screen for a moment, then flashed a grin at his audience.

"All right, guys. One phone call to an angry ex-wife, coming right up."

It seemed to take an eternity for Richie to dial Myra's number. The fact that he actually _had_ Myra's number, without asking Eddie for it, proved that he was quite the accomplished internet stalker.

Eddie could faintly hear the dial tone ringing, followed by a _click!_ and a muffled, _Hello?_

"Myra. Hey! This is—"

But Richie didn't get any further.

He was too busy puking his guts out into the grass, while everyone stared at him in varying degrees of horror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.) I like to imagine that sometime during the mid-to-late 90’s, Ben graduated from New Kids on the Block and became a rabid Backstreet Boys fan.
> 
> 2.) Also I didn’t realize how much I love Kay until I went back and re-read all of her scenes in the novel. I love Kay McCall!
> 
> 3.) The title of this story has been brought to you by my favorite 90’s boy band. (Sorry, Ben.)


	2. The First Big Day

_Knock knock._

"Eddie, it's Bev. Can I come in?"

"Door's unlocked."

Eddie sat alone in his bedroom, perched on the bed with his phone in his hand. Beverly came and sat next to him.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"No, I'm just video chatting with the dog daycare, making sure Mercedes is _only_ eating the food I left with her. I gave very strict written instructions, but you never know with these people. Sometimes they only listen when you shout at them a little."

Besides, if Eddie was going to pay top dollar for the best dog daycare in Los Angeles, then he wanted fucking _proof_ that his dog was getting the treatment he expected. That meant unscheduled video chats, at any time of the day, per the agreement Eddie made with the daycare center. It was the only way he could let them watch Mercedes without losing his fucking mind.

Mercedes seemed happy enough, from what he could see. She was currently lapping from a sparkling clean water dish, fluffy tail wagging as Eddie greeted her through the phone.

"She's adorable," said Beverly. "Can I say hi to her?"

Eddie let Beverly have a turn (without letting her touch the phone, of course, since that was a _perfect_ way to transmit bacteria) and listened to Mercedes yap at her. Eddie left some final threats (subtly disguised as polite requests) with the daycare people, ended the call, and let himself slump against the soft fortress of pillows piled at the head of the bed.

"Let me guess," he sighed. "You're here to talk about Richie."

"You have to give him credit for trying," said Beverly.

"Looks like he tried a little too hard. Am I wrong, Bev, for wanting him to apologize to Myra? I mean, that's just what you _do_. It's no different from apologizing to your neighbor for breaking their window with a baseball! Richie should know. He broke plenty when we were kids."

"Your mom actually let you play baseball?"

"No, of course not. Bad example. I'm full of them today! But _am_ I wrong, Bev? Am I asking too much from Richie?"

"You _did_ activate his nervous puking reflex," said Beverly.

"He was the one who got the bright idea to apologize in front of an audience! I had nothing to do with that!"

"Maybe he thought it would boost his confidence, having us all in front of him."

"It _is_ terrifying, telling Myra you fucked up," Eddie said quietly, avoiding Beverly's eyes. "Or telling her anything important at all, really. I had to practically fight my way out of the house when I told her I was leaving for Derry."

"I understand," said Beverly.

And she did. She _did_ understand, more than anyone else ever could.

"What were we thinking, Bev? Marrying our parents? What the _hell_ were we thinking?"

He saw her hands curl into fists, while something in her face trembled. Beverly took a breath and slowly released it.

"We probably weren't thinking at all," she said. "All those years I thought I had forgotten Derry—and all of _you—_ but somewhere deep down, I never really left. I think it was like that for all of us. We thought we'd left dark things behind, but that darkness stayed with us."

 _Time for your medicine, Eddie-Bear_ , said the ghost of Eddie's mom, though somehow she sounded a lot like Pennywise, cooing through a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth.

Eddie shuddered.

"I think you're right, Bev. There's something terrible—something _shameful—_ that still lives in the back of my mind. When Myra called me this morning and told me what Richie did, it felt like she poked a wound that was finally starting to heal. Marrying Myra was the biggest mistake I ever made. The less I dwell on that part of my life, the happier I am. And what does Richie decide to do? He pokes and prods at this shameful part of my past, reminding me how fucking _stupid_ I was when I married that woman. It made me so angry, Bev. If I could erase my past, I gladly would, but I can't, and the absolute last thing I want is Richie getting involved in it!"

"I know, Eddie," Beverly said softly. "I know. I hate the fact that Ben knows Tom even _exists_. Richie shouldn't have picked on Myra, but I know he didn't do it to hurt you. It sounds like he dislikes your old life as much as you do."

"What, are you saying that in his own twisted way, Richie was just trying to free me from my past?"

"It makes him sound a hell of a lot better than an immature prankster looking for a laugh. Doesn't it?"

It did. And Eddie suspected that Beverly was right. Richie always did pick the strangest, most aggravating ways to show Eddie how he felt about him.

"I guess I'll find Richie and tell him where I'm sleeping tonight," said Eddie, deciding that forgiveness was inevitable. "Hopefully Mike won't get too lonely."

"He won't be lonely if Kay gets her claws into him," said Beverly. "She's very persistent."

"An inspiration to us all," said Eddie.

He definitely needed persistence if he wanted Richie to apologize to Myra.

But he would at least have the decency to forgive him first.

*

Okay, so apparently forgiving Richie also meant doing his chores for him, because saying _I forgive you_ turned into _Fine, I'll talk to Myra for you_ , which led to Eddie in the backyard with his phone clenched in his hand, scolding his ex-wife while Richie stood watching him with pure worship in his eyes.

It was kind of nice.

Except for the scolding his ex-wife part.

"I know what Richie did was wrong, Myra," said Eddie, pacing across the grass like a madman. "I _know_! But have you ever stopped and considered the fact that _maybe_ he has a point?"

"Eddie, what are you saying?" demanded Myra. She sounded on the verge of tears—her usual defense. "You think it's okay for _that comedian_ to whore me out on the internet?"

"I'm saying, Myra, that maybe you _should_ put some effort into finding a new relationship! Move on already! I mean, how many times since the divorce have you called to check up on me or freak out on me or tell me how _worried_ you are that L.A. is going to poison me someday?"

"Eddie, pleeeaaase," Myra wailed. "Don't shout at me! I know I worry about you too much, but I can't help it!"

"You _could_ help it if you stopped dwelling on me all the time. I know this is still hard for you to accept, Myra, but we're divorced. We're always going to be divorced. Richie is my life now, no matter what crazy, fucked-up, stupid things he does, and I would never trade him in for anything!"

She was definitely sniffling now. "I don't dwell on you _all_ the time, Eddie. The world doesn't revolve around you."

"Good. I'm glad it doesn't! I'm genuinely sorry, and so is Richie, but I really do think you'd be a lot happier if you found someone new."

"You _know_ that's not easy for me." Only a matter of time until the sniffling turned into outright sobs. "You know how shallow people are!"

"That's what the internet's for! You don't have to show yourself to anyone until you're ready!"

"Well I'm _not_ ready. And it's none of your business if I start a new relationship or not!"

"Oh, really? It's none of my business? Then it's none of _your_ business how I decide to live my life out here! Does that sound fair enough to you? Because I think it sounds like an _excellent_ arrangement! Goodbye, Myra."

Eddie ended the call as quickly as he could, cutting Myra off on the first syllable of her protest. She would call back, of course, since Myra hated it when Eddie had the last word, but he would let it go to voicemail. And then delete it.

"Okay, I have a massive fucking boner right now," Richie announced from the edge of the lawn, where he'd been hanging onto every word.

Eddie glanced him over. "No, you don't."

"Maybe not literally, but in my head, you have given me the biggest hard-on the world has ever seen."

"I knew it," said Eddie. "You only like me when I'm stressed!"

"I do not! You just happen to be at your hottest when you're stressed!"

The back door slid open and Ben appeared, frowning at them with soft, fuzzy concern in his teddy bear eyes.

"Is everything okay out here?"

"Eddie was fighting my battles for me," said Richie. "He kicked Myra's ass over the phone."

"Good for you!" said Ben. His smile was short-lived as concern overtook his face once more. "Wait, that's a good thing, right?"

"It's a good thing," Eddie assured him. "You can tell everyone that me and Richie are back to normal."

"Just in time for the big day tomorrow," said Ben, grinning at Richie. "I can't believe I get to have a Netflix star at my wedding."

"I wouldn't call him a star just yet," said Eddie. "Netflix might have second thoughts at the last minute and pull the whole thing."

And then he could reschedule his panic attack for a later date.

Ben kept on grinning, oblivious to the anxiety Eddie felt at the very mention of Netflix. "That's very unlikely, Eddie."

"Oh, it's more likely than you think! If Myra spreads the word about Richie's latest antics, it could cause a scandal. She's probably trying to spill the whole thing to the press as we speak."

"And then she'll end up on TV talking shit about us," said Richie. "She's probably really fucking pissed at you right now."

Eddie checked his phone. One missed call and one voicemail. Surprise surprise.

"It's up to you, Richie," said Eddie. "You can always call her and try to make amends."

"After you basically told her to shove the phone up her ass? No thanks."

"I wouldn't have told her anything if you'd had the balls to apologize yourself!"

"I would have puked all over the grass again! You _know_ I would have puked again!"

"That's a risk I'd be willing to take, asshole!"

Ben stared at them, his expression growing tense, like someone had slipped an ice cube into the hot cocoa of his eyes, until he finally broke into another grin and clapped Eddie on the shoulder.

"I'm so glad you guys are back to normal."

*

At three o'clock in the morning, Eddie woke up gasping for air.

 _You're panicking_ , he told himself, staring up at the dark ceiling while he fought for breath. _You're panicking, you're panicking, you're JUST panicking. That's all. That's it!_

Which helped him, somehow, to steady his breathing. It always helped to remind himself that he wasn't having an asthma attack. That he wasn't _sick_. In another lifetime—in the nightmare of his past—Myra would have pulled his spare inhaler from the bedside drawer and fussed over him, pumping medicine down his throat because medicine was _always_ the answer to everything.

It wasn't her fault. She treated him like he was delicate because she was thoroughly convinced he needed special handling. Illness was one of the many lies he had lived. Medicine was his crutch, and Myra was only too happy to prop it up for him.

He really should apologize to her. Properly, this time.

Once he got all of his panic attacks out of the way.

"Eds?"

The mattress creaked as Richie turned over to face him. Eddie couldn't see him in the pitch-black room, but the sound of Richie's voice was enough to help him believe he wasn't choking on his own fears. The panic began to slowly retreat.

"I'm okay," said Eddie. "I'm _okay_. Just a little nervous about tomorrow."

"What, about the Netflix thing?" said Richie.

"This is my first time on TV. Unless you count the time that stupid Youtube video went viral, which I _don't_. I'm starting to understand why you puke when you're emotionally overwhelmed. I feel on the verge of puking myself."

"Shit, don't mention that. I'm nervous too."

"What do _you_ have to be nervous about? You're used to being on TV!"

"Yeah, but this time I'm getting more personal than I ever have before. Soon the whole world is going to know that your mom was my sexual awakening when I was a kid."

" _What?_ You had better be kidding!"

"Okay, okay. Fine. Spoiler alert: I said it was Phoebe Cates. At least, at first it was. And then it was you."

Richie's voice went impossibly soft in the dark. He hardly ever sounded like that. Hardly ever allowed himself to, but every now and then he let his guard down and unleashed a softness that could rival Ben's. Eddie's heart rate sped back up, but this time in a good way.

"Richie, I..." _Think we should get married_ , Eddie finished in his head, but his cowardly mouth wouldn't spit the words out. Not here, at three in the morning, in the fucking dark. It was too weird. "I appreciate you," he ended lamely. "And I'm sorry I woke you up with my panic attacks."

"Like I really give a shit if you wake me up," said Richie. "I'm just glad you're _here_."

"As opposed to sleeping in Mike's room? Did we ever find out if Kay got him into her clutches?"

"Last I heard, they were discussing feminist literature over a bottle of wine. So they either bored each other to death and nothing happened, or they got so bored they had no choice but to fuck in order to fix it."

"I think Mike should give her a chance. He always shows up single to these Losers gatherings. It gets kind of depressing after a while."

"You know, there are plenty of great dating apps out there. If you _really_ feel bad about it, we could do him a favor."

"Oh, my God. No," said Eddie, grinning in the dark, feeling like he could truly breathe again. "Forget I said anything."

*

Kay didn't emerge from Mike's bedroom when the sun came up, but she did arrive at the house after breakfast to join the Losers in their official Netflix viewing. Mrs. Hanscom politely declined, much to Eddie's relief. Comedies weren't her cup of tea, she said, then immediately vanished to tackle some last-minute wedding preparations.

The rented house had a huge TV in the living room. When Eddie stared into its blank screen, he half-expected to see a clown reflected there, giggling at him in cruel mockery.

Beverly came up and squeezed his hand. "It's going to be fine. I'm the one who dressed you, remember? At the very least, you're going to look amazing."

"More amazing than Richie by a long shot," added Stan.

Richie threw a piece of popcorn at Stan, but his attack was ruined when Stan fucking _caught_ it and threw it back, proving that he had completely retained all of his childhood baseball skills.

And then Mike had to go and pull Eddie into a hug, because Ben might have the eyes and soul of a teddy bear, but Mike was the world's biggest hugger whenever he was united with his friends. "Remember that day when you were out driving in New York?" said Mike. "And you got that phone call from me?"

"And I was so fucking terrified, I hit a taxi?" said Eddie.

"This is a walk in the park compared to that, isn't it?"

"Yeah," said Eddie, swallowing hard, urging the tightness in his chest to dissipate. "A walk in the fucking park."

"Can I st-start the show now?" asked Bill, remote in hand, and Eddie felt a hundred times better because _holy shit_. If Bill's stutter—which was mostly dormant since Derry—could make an appearance, then Bill must be nervous too.

It was weird to sit there on the couch, squished between Stan and Richie, watching Bill open Netflix and select _Richie Tozier: Trashmouth Reloaded._ How was this actually happening? One moment they had all been losers—real, actual _losers—_ playing games in the Barrens and hiding in their clubhouse. Just a bunch of insignificant kids. A bunch of nobodies. Now Richie was on fucking _Netflix_ , with Eddie, Beverly, and Bill making guest appearances in his stand-up special/autobiographical documentary, and it was unreal. Almost as unreal as the literal hell they'd escaped from in Derry.

"Shit," said Stan, just as Bill was about to hit _Play_. "Is there a wastebasket around? Or even a paper bag? I've got a bad feeling about this."

"If I have to throw up, I'll just do it in Patty's purse," said Richie. "Right, Patty?"

"Get him a wastebasket," Patty told Stan, sounding almost as dry as her husband.

Once everyone got settled, it was time for the inevitable. Bill hit _Play_.

And it wasn't quite as scary as Eddie imagined. He knew what to expect with most of Richie's jokes. He had been in the audience when the stand-up performance was filmed, so none of those clips took him by surprise, but he felt embarrassingly close to crying when Richie discussed his childhood in the documentary segments.

> **Richie:** We all want things we can't have, especially as kids. You want the bike your parents can't afford you, or cake for breakfast every morning, or a fucking pony, or whatever. But when I was a kid, there was one thing I wanted that I thought I could never have, because having it meant admitting something that terrified the shit out of me. It meant getting harassed and beat up within an inch of my life. I was a desperate, stupid kid at the onset of puberty, wanting this _one_ thing so badly, it hurt worse than all the punches the schoolyard bullies could throw at me. I did all I could to convince the universe—and maybe myself—that it was otherwise. That I was normal. I'd tell all these dirty jokes about girls as loud as I could, going "Look! Look at me! Look how fucking _straight_ I am!" I put so much effort into fighting the truth, trying to protect myself. Making it sound like I was getting pussy on the weekends when all I ever fucking did was hole up in the arcade for hours.
> 
> _[Richie continues speaking over various shots of Derry, Maine. The camera lingers on a movie theater with an abandoned arcade, the front lawn of a school, and finally a bridge over a canal.]_
> 
> **Richie:** I couldn't always fight it, though. Sometimes when you have a wish that can't be fulfilled and you want it badly enough, you have to do _something_ to keep from exploding. _[Camera lingers over R+E carved into the bridge.]_ I'm luckier than most people who grew up like I did. Most mornings, when I'm not on tour or out of town, I get to wake up to the one thing I wanted most when I was a kid. I don't know if I deserve him, but I hope Eddie Kaspbrak knows that he's always been the most important fucking thing in the whole entire world. And he always will be.

"You asshole," Eddie whispered, fighting a huge surge of emotion as he leaned closer to Richie on the couch.

"I mean it," Richie whispered back, making _Eddie_ feel dangerously close to puking because he was filled to the brim with so many fucking emotions.

But the moment was ruined three minutes later.

> **Richie:** It's not my story to tell, so I'll be brief, but Eddie's got more mommy issues than a psychologist's wet dream. I promised Eddie I wouldn't talk shit about his mom—and I'm not going to!—but sometimes I really fucking wish she could see him now. Back when we were kids, Mrs. K was like, "Be mindful of the AIDS crisis, Eddie! Stay away from the gays, Eddie!" Which in retrospect is kind of baffling, because at the same time she was also like, "Here, Eddie, I got you nothing but tiny little short-shorts to wear for the summer!"

Ben was clearly trying not to laugh. Eddie could hear him wheezing with the effort. "Your shorts _were_ pretty short, Eddie."

"It was the 80's!" Eddie protested.

"Not a valid excuse," said Mike. "None of _our_ shorts were that short."

"Too bad," said Kay, eyeing up Mike suggestively. The sight of Mike meeting her bold gaze, holding it for two seconds, and then awkwardly dropping it was nearly as entertaining as the Netflix special.

But Bill didn't have the decency to shut it off. Instead he skipped back to the segment they had talked over and hit the dreaded _Play_ button, making Eddie endure Richie's on-screen comments until the documentary segued to the worst part of all: Eddie's guest appearance.

"Next time I go out of town, I'm jerking off to this," Richie whispered.

Eddie didn't know if he should be flattered or horrified.

Beverly _did_ do a great job with his outfit. Eddie supposed he could have looked worse on TV, though his visible anxiety made him cringe a little. Was he always _that_ fidgety in real life when he got nervous?

> **Eddie:** _[seated on his couch with Mercedes in his lap, a deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face as he turns slightly to reveal the scar on his cheek]_ Yeah, uh, everybody always wants to know about the scar. _[chuckles nervously]_ First of all, I did _not_ get stabbed in prison, so you can squash that rumor. I've never even been to prison! It's really, uh... not a terribly interesting story. I went back to my hometown a couple years ago to meet with my childhood friends. While I was there, I got mugged. And stabbed. While the, uh—while the mugging took place.

"You're so convincing," Stan observed.

"Making up a lie on the spot is _not_ easy," Eddie protested.

Watching himself on TV was also not easy. Each minute on screen became more cringe-worthy than the last. The couch interview was bad enough. It got even _worse_ once Eddie launched into a full tour of the house he shared with Richie. He thought the editors were supposed to cut his most embarrassing moments. Those sick bastards! They probably _wanted_ him to look like a freak in order to gain attention or some bullshit.

The bathroom scene definitely should have been cut. What the hell was the bathroom scene doing in here?

> **Eddie:** _[opens medicine cabinet]_ Nothing unusual in here, thank God. Your basic toiletry items. Just a few medicines for emergencies. This might sound crazy, but owning just a _few_ medicines is a big fucking deal for me. You should have seen my old medicine cabinet back in New York. It was stuffed with so many meds, I could have set up my own pharmacy. I guess I learned it from my mom. Back when I was a kid, we had cupboards and cupboards just _filled_ to the fucking brim with every pharmaceutical you could possibly think of, even the ones we didn't need like birth control pills and Rogaine. But that was my mom for you. Always a great believer in medicine. She used to say that the drugstore is where health is sold. _[shuts the medicine cabinet with a strained, almost crazy smile]_ She should have seen me in New York, hoarding pill bottles and syrups and tablets, taking extra cough medicine when life got a little rough. She should have seen me living a lie with a woman who looked just like her, keeping Valium and Ambien hidden from Myra in a box of cough drops, taking a pill here and there to escape the fucking cage I'd built around myself. Because that's what you do when life gets hard, isn't it, Ma? You trust in the almighty power of medicine!

"What the _fuck_ ," said Richie. "Bill, pause it!"

Eddie wanted to shrink right into the couch and disappear. He couldn't meet anyone's eyes, especially Richie's, so he settled for staring at his own strained face on the TV screen, paused into a frozen state of panic that perfectly mirrored reality.

"They were supposed to cut this!" cried Eddie. "I _told_ them to cut it! Or at least edit out the worst of it!"

"I don't even remember any of this shit," said Richie, gesturing wildly at the TV. "I think I would have remembered your colorful history of medicine abuse, which you've never fucking told me about! Seriously, where the fuck was I when they filmed this? Was I asleep?"

"You had to take Mercedes outside for a bit," Beverly reminded him. "We didn't think anything interesting would happen during a tour of the bathroom, so filming continued while you were out."

"So you knew about this, Bev," said Richie. "And you never mentioned it!"

"Oh, like _you_ haven't done shit at parties in the past!" said Eddie. "You're in no position to judge me!"

Richie's eyes went wide behind his glasses. "I'm not judging you. I just don't understand why you never fucking told me this, especially after you let it slip on camera. I mean, cough medicine? Hiding Valium and Ambien in a box of cough drops? That sounds like serious shit."

Eddie hadn't felt so awkward since the time he told everyone he was gay. Only this time nobody was clapping him on the shoulder and offering their support. In fact, he was pretty sure the mood had been killed, chopped up into several pieces, and then buried under the floorboards.

"Sounds like you two need to have a private chat," said Mike. "We'll wait for you."

It was either that or continue to sit there on the couch, drowning in tension.

"Come on, Richie," Eddie sighed, pushing himself off the couch. "Looks like it's my turn to be sorry."

"This is really our week for fucking things up, isn't it?" Richie said once the two of them were alone, barricaded together in their bedroom. "At this rate, we'd better take ourselves off the guest list if we want Ben and Bev to enjoy themselves tomorrow."

Eddie slumped against the door, leaning his back on it while he stared at Richie, grasping for the right words. "The medicine... it wasn't as serious as it sounds. I wasn't an _addict_. God, I was too fucking cowardly, for one thing. I only had the nerve to misuse the stuff once in a while, when things got bad. I was so unhappy all the time, married to Myra. I felt so trapped, like—like I was chained up in my own home. I'm sorry I never told you, but you've got to understand, Richie. That part of my life—with _Myra_ —is still really fucking hard to talk about sometimes. It's easier with Bev because she's been through similar shit, but with _you,_ I just want to sweep it all under the rug. I don't want you to _know_ such a regrettable part of my life."

"Eddie." Richie's voice went soft, in exactly the way that Eddie liked best. "I get it. Well, no, I don't _completely_ get it. I never married my mom, but I did plenty of dumb shit while we were apart. I told a lot of phony, narrow-minded jokes and fucked a lot of girls I wish I hadn't fucked and let other people write my way to success because the real me got left behind in a fucking sewer all those years. We both lived plenty of lies, Eddie. But when you brought up that medicine shit, it had me worried. It really scared the shit out of me."

"I'm sorry," said Eddie. "I guess I'm still pretty repressed. We both are. If we're going to, uh—be together for a long time, we need to be more open with each other. No more surprises."

"That's going to make birthdays and Christmas really fucking boring."

"Okay, fine. No _secrets_."

"I know everyone's waiting for us out there," said Richie, edging in closer, "but I _really_ want to make them wait a little longer."

Eddie didn't reply. He pulled Richie against him and thought, _Fuck Netflix_ before his mind got lost in a warm, pleasant haze.


	3. The Honest Truth

Once the shock wore off, the rest of the Losers were understanding about Eddie's on-screen confession. The rest of the Netflix special contained a few more embarrassments (mainly related to Eddie's so-called "troubled relationship with his mother"), but they were all minor compared to the medicine outburst.

"You two should have your own reality TV show," Kay told Eddie and Richie. "It would be a spectacular train wreck."

"Thanks," said Eddie. "But I'm pretty sure this is my last TV appearance. Going out in public is going to be hard enough after this."

Which reminded him that the paparazzi would probably try their very best to crash the wedding tomorrow. Why did he let Ben schedule it around the Netflix debut? _Why?_

At least he had the wedding rehearsal to take his mind off his inability to keep his mouth from running wildly in front of cameras. In the afternoon, everyone headed off to the hotel Ben had booked and spent the next couple of hours rehearsing the ceremony, which largely involved the following:

1.) Lots of awkward meetings with Ben and Beverly's relatives.

2.) Trying not to panic when six of those relatives mentioned the Netflix special.

3.) Fighting off nightmare flashbacks from his wedding to Myra.

4.) Making sure no cashews were present. Okay, so he probably wasn't _really_ allergic, but it was still a risk he couldn't take.

5.) Getting sucked further and further into the idea that yes, he and Richie should probably have a wedding in the near future.

But he wasn't sure how to approach Richie, which made him feel like a fucking idiot. It should be _simple_. Richie only agreed to a domestic partnership because Eddie wasn't comfortable with marriage at the time. He'd be thrilled if Eddie told him he'd changed his mind. Yet the very thought of approaching this subject made Eddie feel petrified.

 _No more secrets_ , he reminded himself.

Easier said than done.

"Do you think You-Know-Who has seen the Netflix special?" Richie asked, once Ben's fussy Aunt Jean finally decided that the never-ending rehearsal had (mostly) met her strict satisfaction.

Eddie had escaped into the hotel lobby as quickly as he could. The ballroom, where the ceremony would take place, was starting to give him a headache.

"You-Know-Who?" Eddie echoed. "No, Richie, I _don't_ know who."

" _You know_." Richie leaned in close, bringing his mouth to Eddie's ear. "The M word."

"The media? Of course they've seen it! They're probably finding new ways to pick on me this very moment!"

"Not the media. _Myra_."

"Why the hell would _she_ watch it? She hates you!"

"Sick curiosity," said Richie. "What ex-wife can resist her gay ex-husband going on Netflix and showing off his new relationship? Maybe she'll finally take a fucking hint."

"That sounds too good to be true," said Eddie. "I'm pretty sure she still thinks my sexuality is just a midlife crisis that I'll snap out of one of these days. Like I'll wake up one morning and magically turn straight and then hop on the nearest plane to New York!"

"Dude, I _tried_ to fix the Myra problem for you. I really did."

"I know. You just didn't go about it the right way."

"How about this: Next time I do a show, I'll ask the audience if anyone is interested in a clingy, hysterical wannabe-nursemaid and give out her number to the highest bidder—"

"No, no, no!" Eddie cut in. "Absolutely not!"

It occurred to Eddie that the lobby was not the greatest place for two grown men to stand around bickering, especially when they both had recognizable faces. He shot a guilty glance at the concierge desk. The woman behind it was watching them, though she didn't seem to recognize Richie. Instead she looked like she was contemplating whether or not to call security to get these lunatics out of her lobby.

Eddie ducked back into the ballroom, dragging Richie with him.

The place had been filled with rows upon rows of seats for the wedding guests, with tasteful garlands and flower arrangements everywhere. No balloons, of course, which got funny looks from some of the guests, especially when Ben and Beverly both made it clear that _no_ balloons of any kind were permitted inside the building.

Kay was currently arm-in-arm with Beverly, going over the security measures they had taken in case of a hostile break-in by Tom Rogan. As far as Eddie knew, Tom had fucked off to Vegas several months ago to re-launch his career among the gamblers and strippers, but Beverly wasn't taking any chances. Or more like _Kay_ wasn't taking any chances.

"Honey, if that lowlife son-of-a-bitch dares to skulk around here, I will personally cut his dick off and feed it to the fish pond," Kay promised Beverly, looking deadly in a pair of blood-red heels.

"Those poor fish," said Mike. He flashed his most dazzling smile at Kay. "Feed it to the garbage instead. That's where it _really_ belongs."

"Or maybe I'll flush it down the toilet," said Kay. "Let the sewers have the damn thing."

Mike shared a glance with Beverly. "Wouldn't be the worst thing that's ended up in the sewers."

Eddie doubted they had anything to worry about. Security was extra tight, even for the rehearsal, thanks to the number of famous people in attendance. Eddie supposed he was now included in that number.

Shit.

 _Was_ he famous?

Famous for being a neurotic mess, probably, but still. He was on TV. People were sitting in their fucking living rooms that very moment, watching him spill his guts to the camera.

Oh, God. What if someone wanted his autograph?

_Mr. Kaspbrak, you are an inspiration to nervous hypochondriacs everywhere. Please, will you sign my pill bottle?_

And then Eddie would probably have a psychotic meltdown, like Richie did with that kid at the Chinese restaurant back in Derry. Never mind the fact that Richie thought the kid was _Pennywise._ You didn't need the threat of monsters to make Eddie lose his shit. One little nudge was all it took to send him over the edge on the best of days at the best of times.

If he was lucky, he might even land his very own page in the _Enquirer_.

*

After the wedding rehearsal came the rehearsal dinner.

This meant spending another hour with the entire wedding party—this time in the hotel's banquet room—trying to block out more uncomfortable memories of his previous life with Myra. If only _those_ memories could hide themselves the way his childhood memories from Derry lay hidden all those years.

He and Myra never had a rehearsal dinner. Neither of them had many friends or family members, so the wedding was small. Eddie barely said two words to any of Myra's relatives, but he suspected they knew he was gay the moment they set eyes on him. Her family always seemed to be whispering among themselves, like there was some grand conspiracy happening beneath the wedding preparations. Once he overheard Myra's mother asking, "Honey, are you sure the two of you are _right_ for each other?" in such a skeptical voice, it had Myra bursting into tears.

The warning signs were right there. As if Myra's obvious resemblance to his mother wasn't warning enough.

But he wasn't here to beat himself up over past mistakes. He was here to support his friends and make sure Richie ate his vegetables and possibly explode if Beverly's cousin brought up that damn Netflix special _one_ more time.

Halfway through dinner, Ben's mother decided to engage Eddie in conversation about his eating habits. She still wasn't convinced that meat and dairy weren't fit for human consumption, but she seemed genuinely curious about the possible substitutions.

"I've heard of soy burgers, of course," Mrs. Hanscom was saying. "Those have been around a while. But _you_ don't eat soy. What was in that meatless burger you had the other day?"

"Not all meat substitutes are made from soy," said Eddie, patiently mixing avocado oil vinaigrette into his second helping of salad. "In fact, you can make a veggie patty from a variety of ingredients, like black beans, chickpeas, mushrooms, corn, vegetable protein, nuts, and grains."

"You can also make a killer sandwich out of tree bark and leaves," added Richie. "Tree sap makes an _amazing_ sauce."

"He's joking!" said Eddie, quickly soothing the alarm in Mrs. Hanscom's eyes. "You do have to be careful with veggie burgers, though. Some of them are so heavily processed, you might as _well_ be eating tree bark. That's why I usually buy the ingredients and have my veggie burgers made fresh at home. It cuts down on your intake of processed food and preservatives."

"There _is_ nothing better for you than a home-cooked meal," said Mrs. Hanscom. "Though I don't think I could eat a veggie burger on lettuce instead of a bun. Sounds too much like a salad sandwich to me."

"Oh, you'd definitely consider it if you did some research on gluten," said Eddie. "It's linked with an endless number of health concerns."

Ben's bitchy Aunt Jean, seated next to Mrs. Hanscom, whispered, "Really, Arlene. You don't need to take advice from _those people_."

"They're both harmless," Mrs. Hanscom whispered back. "Benny thinks very highly of them."

Bitchy Aunt Jean pressed her mouth into a thin, severe line.

Eddie didn't know if she intended her whispering to be private, but he heard every fucking word. And he knew exactly what she meant by _those people_. He'd seen the disapproval in her eyes the moment she learned that Eddie and Richie were together. The disapproval was nothing new. He and Richie had been dealing with that shit ever since Richie publicly came out. But something about Ben's aunt sitting there at the table, making her judgments when she should have been supporting her nephew, really got under Eddie's skin.

It bothered him all throughout dinner. When dessert arrived and people started making speeches, wishing good luck to Ben and Beverly, the annoyance had progressed to a restless _urge_ to do something.

Eddie's heart pounded with nervous energy. He could barely swallow the fruit he'd requested in place of cake. He knew what he had to do.

 _Do or do not_ , said a voice from his childhood. _There is no try._

That was Yoda who said that, wasn't it? Fucking Yoda.

The little goblin had a point, though.

After Bill concluded a well-worded, heartfelt speech that brought cheers around the table, Eddie stood up on trembling legs.

"I, uh—I'd like to say a few words, please."

_There is no try._

"My name is Eddie Kaspbrak. Close friend of the bride and groom. You may have also seen my crazy scarred-up face on the newly released _Trashmouth Reloaded._ " That brought a few chuckles. Eddie managed a shaky smile. "But the less said about that, the better. What I _really_ want to say is that Beverly and Ben are two of the bravest people I know. Bev and I both learned the hard way that marriage can really screw you up. Like Bev, I also married the wrong person and then divorced them, but unlike her, I developed a phobia toward anything involving matrimony. You can ask Richie here. It was a miracle getting me to agree to a domestic partnership with him!"

A couple more chuckles. Bitchy Aunt Jean was scowling. _Good._

"But I've come to realize that there's nothing to be afraid of," Eddie continued. "It's not so bad committing fully to another person, as long as it's the _right_ person. That's what you've taught me, Beverly. You've taught me that you can learn from your mistakes, start all over, and _try again_. And Ben, you've done a fantastic job helping her move past everything. I know you're going to be the world's greatest second husband. Fuck that. The _greatest husband_ , period. Let's pretend Tom doesn't even exist. And neither does _my_ ex, because I'm ready to move on too. That's right, Richie. You heard me correctly!" Eddie had been avoiding Richie's face, but he finally looked him in the eye. Richie, who had always been a fidgeter since childhood, sat completely still for once, quietly meeting Eddie's gaze without a single joke on his lips. It effectively kept Eddie's momentum going. "I know I was reluctant about marriage before, but a lot has happened since then, and I've changed my mind. I'm finally ready to give this marriage thing another shot! No more letting the ghosts of my past fuck things up for us. Just name the time and place and we'll do this, like we should have done ages ago!"

And that was when Eddie started to falter. Maybe it was the wide-eyed disbelief on Richie's face, or the way Ben was clearly hanging on every word. Or maybe the fact that he just spilled his entire fucking _soul_ to a bunch of people he literally just met a few hours ago.

"And, uh, congratulations to Ben and Beverly, too!" Eddie blurted out. "Good luck tomorrow! _Oh, God_."

The full impact of his words came crashing down upon him. He was vaguely aware of several noises erupting around the table as people started to react, but he didn't stick around long enough to know who was cheering for him and who was gasping in shock. He was practically gasping himself, taking strained breaths as he hurried out of the banquet room and into the richly carpeted hallway.

Where could he go to calm himself down?

The bathroom? Too gross. The gym? Probably just as gross. That little alcove where they kept the ice machine?

That would probably work.

Wait, no. This was stupid. What the hell was he doing? He couldn't just walk out of his friends' rehearsal dinner and then _disappear_! He'd look like an asshole! Well, more of an asshole. He wouldn't blame Ben and Beverly for kicking him out of their wedding, but of course they wouldn't, because they were too fucking nice. But they _should_. They should ban him from all public social gatherings because Eddie was clearly not fit for society. He couldn't even do a simple TV interview without dissolving into a puddle of word vomit. Now Ben and Beverly's relatives were all going to think he was a fucking lunatic, because he just _had_ to get riled up by some homophobic old bitch who—

"Eddie!"

 _No secrets_ , Eddie reminded himself as Richie came down the hall. He was _not_ going to hide from Richie.

"Holy shit," said Richie, halting about three feet from Eddie. "That was one of the bravest things you've ever done. Like, probably a nine on the Eddie Kaspbrak bravery scale."

"Am I still brave if I ran away immediately afterwards?" said Eddie.

"If you meant what you said." Richie moved in closer. "I sure hope you did, because Beverly's cousin Jennifer recorded the whole thing."

"Oh, my God. Of course she did. The whole internet will know about this within the hour. Your publicist will probably murder me! But fuck it. Who cares? Who the _hell_ cares? I meant every word I said in there! I've been wanting to tell you for days now, Richie, but I couldn't think of the right way to do it, until Ben's aunt forced it out of me!"

Richie frowned. "Ben's aunt?"

"The bitchy one from Nebraska. Did you not hear her earlier? Because _I_ sure did! She referred to us as _those people_ and has been glaring at us since we met her!"

"I _did_ notice the glares. I kept hoping it was just my shirt she didn't like." Richie broke into a grin. "She's _really_ going to be glaring after this. But we'll piss her off later. Right now, we are getting a room and I'm going to show you exactly what I think of that speech of yours, and I don't give a _fuck_ who hears us."

Eddie almost said yes. The look in Richie's eyes was absolutely dizzying. Eddie could _feel_ the intensity building up behind his glasses.

He made himself look away. "Don't tempt me. I have to go back in there and make things right with Ben and Bev. But _later_. I promise."

Richie was wrong. One of the bravest things Eddie ever did was walk back into that banquet hall, take his seat at the table, and apologize to the entire wedding party. Everyone took it pretty well. Eddie suspected that Bill or Stan had explained a thing or two in his absence.

_You'll have to excuse poor Eddie. He's got a few screws loose._

"I'm glad you're all right, honey," said Mrs. Hanscom, while Bitchy Aunt Jean glared in silence. "I thought you were having an attack or something. You had terrible asthma as a child, didn't you?"

"Well, uh—not exactly," said Eddie.

"I thought you had an inhaler. You _always_ had an inhaler with you."

"I did. But it was fake. I mean, it wasn't _really_ asthma medicine. Just medicine-flavored water."

"Oh, shit," said Richie. "Eddie's full of surprises tonight. Are we finally going public about the fake asthma?"

"Who gave you the fake medicine?" Beverly's cousin Jennifer butted in. "Your mom? Did she want you to _think_ you were sick?"

"Jen, leave him be," Beverly warned.

Eddie noticed—too late—that Jennifer had her phone out. Was she _still_ recording him? Shit.

But he wouldn't worry about that now. As soon as this rehearsal dinner bullshit was over, he and Richie had some very important plans to make.

*

But _first_ they spent a while talking everything out later that night. Or at least "talking it out" was the excuse they gave the rest of the Losers for shutting themselves up in their room the moment they got back to the house.

Very little talking was actually involved.

Later, when the lights were out and everything was quiet, Eddie lay awake trying to sleep. Why did he feel so strange? He should be satisfied. He was surrounded by his closest friends, he had finally agreed to get fucking _married_ , and he'd lifted a tremendous amount of anxiety from his shoulders.

Something still bothered him, though. It itched at him, the way Bitchy Aunt Jean's remark had itched at him all throughout dinner.

"Richie," Eddie whispered. "You awake?"

"Yeah," Richie whispered back. "I'm trying to decide if the 'Thong Song' should be placed at the beginning or the end of our wedding playlist."

" _What?"_

"Or maybe somewhere in the middle. It should definitely go right next to 'Baby Got Back' and 'I'm in Love With a Stripper.'"

"Apparently _I'm_ in love with a maniac, because what the fuck, Richie?"

" _Or_ , should we kick things off with a good old-fashioned Weird Al polka?"

"First of all, who the hell says _you're_ picking the playlist?" demanded Eddie.

"What, am I supposed to leave it up to the guy who can't even tell the difference between Kiss and AC/DC?"

"How am I supposed to tell them apart? They sound alike! I can't be the only one who thinks so!"

"Dude, I guarantee you're the only one who thinks that. The rest of us know better."

Their bickering, as usual, helped ease the stress from Eddie's mind, but it almost made him forget why he had spoken in the first place.

"Richie," he said again. "I've been thinking. Not about cancelling the marriage thing!" he quickly added. "I still want to do that! But I can't stop thinking about all the stuff I've been spilling lately. I came pretty damn close to telling the whole story about my mom, but maybe that's not a bad thing. Maybe I'm ready to talk about it. I probably _need_ to after everything that's happened recently."

Aside from a few little outbursts here and there, Eddie never went in-depth about his mother in the Netflix special. The documentary had tried to play up the mommy issues angle as much as possible, but Eddie hadn't given them a whole lot to work with. And until tonight, his fake asthma was still a secret between him and the Losers.

"Shit," said Richie. If it wasn't pitch-dark, he'd probably be gazing at Eddie in shock. "Am I dreaming right now? You're actually going to open up about my favorite topic in the whole world?"

"This is _not_ a free pass to make my mom your punching bag, Richie. But yes, you heard me correctly. I've been dragging so much bullshit around with me all these years, and most of it wasn't even clear to me until recently, when I got my memories back. Ever since then, I've been struggling to process it. I probably didn't _want_ to process it, but I've got to stop suppressing shit. You see what happens when I keep things bottled up. I end up like you, but instead of throwing up vomit, all these crazy _words_ come spilling out."

"Does this mean more interviews, then? I can talk to my publicist. As soon as the media finds out Eddie Kaspbrak's cleaning out his closet, they'll jump at the chance to talk to you."

"Except I already came out ages ago, obviously."

"No, like the Eminem song. 'Cleanin' Out My Closet.' It's pretty much the mommy issues anthem."

"Ugh, no thanks. I'd rather not be compared to _that_ guy. 'Fight For Your Right' is bad enough."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

"Eds... Did you just get Eminem mixed up with the Beastie Boys? Seriously?"

"I don't know! I don't listen to rap!"

" _Seriously_ , Eddie? I feel like you don't know me at all, man! I'm still going to marry you, though. Sorry."

"I'm still going to marry you, too," said Eddie.

He kept hoping the more he said it, the less unreal it would start to feel, but it still felt strange. Strange in the best way possible. He was actually _doing_ this. It was perfectly fitting, he supposed, to open up about his mom at a time like this. Maybe it would finally rid him of her ghost.

Speaking of his mom's ghost, he still hadn't heard anything from Myra. He figured she would have been panicking by now over the Netflix special, but maybe she was too pissed at him to say anything. Maybe she never saw the special at all, but he knew that was probably way too much to hope for.

Just as he was about to fall asleep, Richie nudged him in the back and whispered, "Eddie?"

"Mmph?" Eddie mumbled.

"I have to ask now, because I won't be able to sleep until I get an answer."

"What? What is it?"

"Do you know the difference between Prince and Michael Jackson?"

"Oh, my fucking— _yes_ , Richie! Of course I do!"

"Are you _sure?_ Who sang 'Purple Rain'?"

"It was Prince, okay? Prince sang 'Purple Rain'! And if you don't shut up and let me sleep, I'm going to pull a Michael Jackson and make you beat it!"

"Wow, okay. There's hope for you after all. Good night, Eds."

*

No one was surprised to find Kay slipping out of Mike's room in the morning.

"That's right," Kay said at breakfast. "The librarian checked me out, removed my jacket, and nearly cracked my spine in his eagerness to reach the ending."

Stan choked into his coffee.

"Maybe we should shelve this conversation," said Mike.

"Where?" said Richie. "The horror section?"

The morning didn't remain horrific for long, because Ben could always be counted on to shove them into the romance section. His wedding fever had reached an all-time high after Eddie's speech the night before. He couldn't even _look_ at Eddie and Richie without his eyes melting into puddles of Valentine chocolate. Eddie kept reminding him that his wedding to Beverly was literally within hours, but it didn't stop Ben from going on and on about caterers and venues and gift registries and all the other bullshit that Eddie would rather not think about just yet. Eventually, when the time came, but not _now_. He'd already had so much on his mind the last couple of days, it was a miracle his head didn't explode.

One thing he didn't want on his mind was Myra, but he kept checking his phone to see if she was freaking out over the Netflix special.

Still nothing.

"I guess we finally scared her off," said Eddie. "A fucking miracle."

"If you want to know for sure, check her social media," Richie suggested.

"I can't do that. It's creepy!"

"She does it all the time to you! I bet you anything, she's talking shit about you right now."

"Talking shit about _you_ , probably," said Eddie. "You're the one she hates."

"Yeah, for turning you gay and stealing you away from her," said Richie. "If you don't look her up, I will, just to see whatever delusional bullshit she's come up with next."

They were both disappointed when Richie discovered nothing new on Myra's social media. If she had dared to watch the Netflix special, then she was keeping quiet about it. Which was a big fucking step for Myra.

"And she doesn't even know about the fake asthma yet," said Richie. "Let's see how long she stays quiet when _that_ blows up."

"You're enjoying this," Eddie accused him. "You _want_ her to have a meltdown."

"Ben's going to have a meltdown if you two don't get dressed soon," Stan warned them. "We're leaving in fifteen minutes."

"Sorry, grandpa," said Richie. "We'll try to be punctual."

Stan silently flipped him the bird and strolled off.

*

The wedding progressed without any major mishaps.

Kay didn't have to cut Tom Rogan's dick off, since nobody found any sign of him lurking around. The paparazzi _did_ try to crash the ceremony, hoping to snap candid photos of Bill or Audra or Richie or whoever, but security swiftly dealt with anyone not on the guest list.

It didn't stop the actual guests from sneaking pictures with their phones, but Eddie couldn't exactly tell Beverly's grandma _No photos, please_ , now could he?

Hopefully no one zoomed in on the scar on his cheek. He _hated_ when that happened.

As the ceremony went on, Eddie began to feel less insecure about his outburst at dinner last night. Ben and Beverly stood facing each other beneath the high ceiling of the hotel ballroom, dressed like a magazine couple, melting everyone in the room with the warmth of their vows. They deserved this, damn it. They all deserved a moment like this after climbing out of those hellish sewers. Eddie had been right to speak up last night. Maybe his timing wasn't the best and it was more like word vomit than actual speech, but he had put it out in the universe that Eddie Kaspbrak no longer gave a fuck. Eddie Kaspbrak was afraid of _nothing_.

Including the appetizers at the wedding reception. To avoid looking like a snobby jerk in front of his friends' relatives, Eddie actually ate _gluten_ , even though he knew he would regret it later. And when the cake was served, he was even brave enough to take a sliver off of Richie's piece.

"Next thing you know, he'll be ordering a whole plate of cashews," Richie joked.

"What's wrong with cashews?" asked Mrs. Hanscom, who somehow ended up seated near Eddie again. She was looking at him the way Eddie's mom used to, like she was thinking about taking his temperature. "I thought those were healthy."

"It's an allergy thing," muttered Eddie.

" _Fake_ allergy," said Richie, the prick. "It's mostly in your head, dude."

Now Mrs. Hanscom was staring at Eddie like he was crazy. "Honey, you _imagine_ you have a cashew allergy?"

"It's a long story, Mrs. Hanscom," Eddie sighed. "A long, strange story. I'm going to need a few more drinks before I can even begin to tell it to you."

Either that, or an excuse to stay in his chair as long as possible, because moments later the DJ started playing Ben's careful selection of 90's pop hits. Beverly's Aunt Wendy (who'd definitely had a few more drinks than she should have) was the first one to start dancing, but more people quickly joined her as the music got faster, but fortunately not louder.

So Eddie stayed put and kept talking. Maybe because Mrs. Hanscom was so different from his own mom. She actually wanted to _listen_ to him. Eddie's mother never listened to him. Mrs. Kaspbrak and her endless cupboards of medicine always knew best. It never mattered if she could see with her own eyes that little Eddie had stopped coughing and sniffling three days ago. She was keeping him home from school another day, _Just to be on the safe side_ , she always said.

The safe side. What a fucking joke. The safe side was where little boys stayed shut up in closets until they were forty. Where they learned to take a pill or a dose of syrup every time life got a little tough.

Eddie didn't tell that to Mrs. Hanscom, but he did tell her the whole story of his wedding to Myra. She listened patiently as he tried to explain how it felt to be a.) deeply in denial of your sexuality, b.) so fucked up by your mom that you married a physical copy of her, and c.) convinced you had asthma and/or allergies every time you started panicking.

"Too bad I didn't panic before our vows were exchanged," Eddie was saying, while the music and dancing continued around them. "It might have kept me from making the biggest mistake of my life. But unfortunately for me, the panic didn't really set in until after the ceremony. It was during the reception, when the appetizers were going around. I stared at Myra, who looked so much like my mom's ghost in her wedding dress, and at the same time I took a bite of something with cashew butter in it. Moments later I couldn't breathe. They rushed me to the hospital."

"You poor thing," said Mrs. Hanscom.

"Yeah, he went _nuts_ at his own wedding," said Richie. "Get it?"

Eddie didn't even mind the bad joke. It felt good to tell his story to someone besides the Losers. He just hoped Mrs. Hanscom wasn't permanently freaked out by everything he told her.

"I'm sorry to dump all of that on you at your son's wedding," Eddie apologized. "I know it's a lot to process. Guess I should have warned you."

"No, no, that's all right, honey," said Mrs. Hanscom, sounding every bit as soft and fuzzy as Ben in his warmest moments. "I _did_ ask. And I don't blame you one bit for avoiding cashews."

A strange feeling overtook Eddie. It fully hit him, in that moment, that he was in the presence of a Truly Good Mom.

He slipped off to the bathroom to let this feeling pass (and to release all the champagne he'd consumed). By the time he returned, the energy in the room had completely changed. In fact, it was more like the energy had left entirely. People were slow dancing while the sappiest fucking boy band song played over the speakers, casting a harmonious lull over the party.

_I've loved you forever  
_ _In lifetimes before  
_ _And I promise you never  
_ _Will you hurt anymore  
_ _I give you my word  
_ _I give you my heart  
_ _This is a battle we've won  
_ _And with this vow  
_ _Forever has now begun_

Holy shit, that was sappy, even for an *NSYNC song.

(Wait, _was_ this *NSYNC? Lucky guess, maybe? He would have to check with Ben when he got the chance.)

_Til' the day my life is through  
_ _This I promise you  
_ _This I promise you_

When Eddie returned to his seat, he found that Mike and Kay had joined the table. Kay was apparently not the slow dancing type. She was currently arguing with Mike about sexism in wedding rituals, whatever the hell _that_ meant.

"I've got news," Richie said as soon as Eddie sat down. He handed Eddie his phone. "Read this."

"Oh, God. Richie, no. Are you stalking Myra again?"

"Just read it!"

Eddie sucked it up and read it.

Myra had finally updated her social media for the first time since the Netflix release. Surprisingly, she had very little to say on the matter of Richie and Eddie's Netflix fame. Her reaction consisted of a single, brief line.

_I guess my marriage really was a lie._

Two different emotions waged war inside Eddie: guilt and relief. In the end, relief won out. He felt like he had come to the end of a long, tiring struggle. This was the end, he supposed, of Myra claiming that his coming out, divorce, and relationship with Richie was all part of a particularly intense midlife crisis. Perhaps witnessing Eddie's new life had finally helped her see the truth.

"One more thing," said Richie, taking back his phone. "I know it's a little early, since we haven't even set a date yet, but I started working on our wedding playlist."

"We already talked about this!" Eddie protested. "And I already said I don't trust you to take it seriously."

"Right, because I should leave the most important playlist of my life in your hands, when you can't even get the characters on _South Park_ straight."

"What? That's not even music! It's completely irrelevant!"

"Eddie, you always get Kenny and Kyle mixed up with each other! How the hell do you even _do_ that?"

Maybe because Eddie didn't _care_ about Kyle and Cartwheel and Butterscotch and all those other round-faced little shits. But he didn't say so, because people were starting to stare at them. As usual.

"All right, I get your point," said Eddie, deciding that his friends' wedding was probably the least appropriate place to create a scene. "Let me see the playlist."

Richie passed him his phone again. Eddie was glad he'd finished eating and drinking, or he would have choked at Richie's outrageous song choices. Richie's idea of a wedding playlist looked like something that had been transported from a stupid teen party from the 2000's, with a bit of 70's, 80's, and 90's thrown into the mix.

**Rich and Ed's Excellent Wedding**

_Baby Got Back - Sir Mix-a-Lot  
_ _Thong Song - Sisqo  
_ _I'm 'n Luv (Wit a Stripper) - T-Pain  
_ _Angry White Boy Polka - Weird Al Yankovic  
_ _Milkshake - Kelis  
_ _My Humps - The Black Eyed Peas  
_ _Big Balls - AC/DC  
_ _Dick in a Box - The Lonely Island  
_ _Hot in Herre - Nelly  
_ _I'm Too Sexy - Right Said Fred  
_ _Candy Shop - 50 Cent  
_ _Bootylicious - Destiny's Child_  
_White & Nerdy - Weird Al Yankovic  
_ _Never Gonna Give You Up - Rick Astley_

"It's a work in progress," said Richie. "We're going to need a lot more Weird Al, _obviously."_

This had to be a joke. Eddie knew from the pleased grin on Richie's face; the same one he wore when he dropped a punchline he thought was brilliant.

"So this is your master plan?" said Eddie. "You're going to make everyone hear about big butts and big balls, and then at the very end you Rick Roll them?"

"The media will love it! It's too bad your mom won't be there. I could have played 'Stacy's Mom' especially for her."

"That's it. Call your publicist!" Eddie practically threw the phone back at Richie. "I'm doing _two_ interviews. First about my mom, without any of your snide little jokes. And then I'm going to tell the whole world how fucking insane you are."

Richie just stared.

Eddie reassured him by cracking a smile.

"I'm still going to marry you, though. Sorry, Richie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.) It only took me about five hundred years to complete this last chapter. You can thank the heat wave that melted my brain. 
> 
> 2.) When the _No Strings Attached_ CD first came out, I always used to skip “This I Promise You.” It’s still not my favorite track, but it’s grown on me over the years and totally seems like a song Ben would choose for a wedding, despite his rabid Backstreet Boys fanboying. 
> 
> 3.) Ben himself describes his Aunt Jean as a bitch, so I figured she must be pretty bad. :)


End file.
